Domestic Chaos
by Blackrose715378
Summary: Complete.
1. I Hate Pancakes

_A/N: All right! Here we have a return to the long ficcy-fics that I love to write so very much. This picks up after Seeing Double...if you couldn't figure that out…Psycho wants his arm back from a certain someone! Don't know what I'm talking bout? Too bad! Haha. Love ya, X! _

Chapter 1

Jack put the phone back in its cradle, glanced at the clock on the microwave, and sighed. Why did his roommate have to sleep until 2 in the afternoon _every single day_? Bracing himself from the angry response he was about to get, he opened the door to Blaine's room.

"Time to get up!" he chirped, attempting to pull the blankets off his roommate's bed.

The mumbled response he got back was not very polite.

"Come on, I'm making pancakes!"

"I hate pancakes."

"It's two in the afternoon!"

As a response to this, a hand reached out from under the mound of blankets, grabbed a glass of water off the night stand and threw it at the intruder.

Jack stood there and considered the wet spot on his shirt. "Oh, very mature. Come on, you got a job offer."

"How much does it pay?"

"Starting price is three grand."

The no-longer sleeping form seemed to consider this for a moment, then groaned. "All right, fine, I'll be out in a minute."

Jack left the room happily, knowing that the more money Blaine brought in, the more cool stuff they'd get for the apartment. Whistling as he worked, the man started making the pancake batter.

Jack was just stacking the cakes on a plate when his roommate finally emerged from his room, wearing boxer shorts and a CIA t-shirt.

Jack looked up as Blaine entered the room. "I didn't know the CIA gave out t-shirts."

Blaine went to the cabinet and grabbed a box of frosted flakes. "They don't."

Jack waited for some explanation as to how Blaine had gotten the shirt, and rolled his eyes and went back to his pancakes when none came.

Jack began separating the stack of pancakes into two plates, and in the process of doing so, dropped one into the garbage can. Seeing that his roommate's back was still turned, Jack began to whistle again, removed the item from the garbage, and plopped it back onto Blaine's plate, brushing off an old piece of lettuce that had somehow gotten stuck to it.

Ready to enjoy watching his roommate eat the infected pancake, Jack sat quietly, and nonchalantly glanced at the man surveying the contents of the fridge.

"What are you looking for? I made pancakes!"

"I told you I don't like pancakes."

"Everybody likes pancakes! Here!" Jack picked one up and threw it at Blaine.

Blaine somehow managed to avoid being hit by the breakfast food without moving, but that could've just been because his roommate was a really lousy shot. Finally content with his findings, he picked up a bottle of Coke and the box of frosted flakes, got a bowl and spoon, and went down to sit down at the table with Jack.

Jack watched, an eyebrow raised as Blaine sat down at the table with the four items. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked.

Blaine steadied the bowl with one hand and poured the frosted flakes in with the other. "No," he replied.

"What about milk? We have milk, you know."

"I don't like milk." He poured the Coke over the cereal, then picked up the spoon, and started eating.

Jack looked on in revulsion. "You can't eat that!"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Don't tell an assassin what he can or can't eat for breakfast."

"I MADE PANCAKES!"

"Where's the job offer info you wrote down?"

"Here." Jack offered him a piece of floral stationary, which he took with his own look of revulsion. "Sounded legit to me, except for his name. Who's ever heard of a guy named Dread?"


	2. Candy Anyone?

_A/N: Yawn_

Chapter 2

John Dread walked around his former office as he waited for a meeting with Jefferson Smith. He had almost forgotten how beautiful the view of the bay was. Almost. While silently reminiscing about days spent in this office, Dread reached into his pocket and withdrew the key to the locked drawer in the desk. He had taken it with him when he…died. As Marco Nathanson, he had faked his own death, while bringing about the real deaths of many others…including the real father of Josh McGrath, or as he was known around here, Max Steel.

Anyway, Dread was curious to see what his successor to the N-Tek throne kept stored in the drawer. He suspected it would be some kind of weapon; he himself had stored his magnum in it, even thought he had never been forced to use it in this nice, plush office.

Withdrawing the key he had not used in so many years, Dread worked it into the keyhole in the drawer, and was happy to see that the lock had not been changed since he had last used it. Without knowing why, there was a feeling of suspense, and Dread paused in his task, making sure he had not just heard footsteps outside the door. He hadn't. Good. Slowly, he opened the drawer that had formerly contained his deadly firearm, making sure that it was not booby-trapped in any way.

Finally getting the drawer open, the man peered inside, and had to blink before he could accept the truth of what the drawer contained. He carefully picked up the object, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and held it at eyelevel for inspection. Out of all the possible self-defense weapons, out of all the most important papers, out of everything secret and vital he could have stored in that drawer, Jefferson Smith had been keeping a half-eaten Snickers bar in it.

John Dread made a face of disgust, and it was at that moment Jefferson Smith himself returned to the room to meet with the former Marco Nathanson. Smith seemed to be frozen in place, looking horrified at the fact that John Dread had found the half-eaten candy bar he had stored in the emergency drawer.

It took a minute, but finally Smith regained his composure and cleared his throat. "I'll forget you took it upon yourself to open that drawer if you forget about what was in it."

Dread tossed the lint-encrusted candy back into the drawer and looked for something to wipe his hand on.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad…" He went over to the drawer to take a look at the candy. He had started the bar two months ago, and had honestly forgotten where he had put it. He had thought Josh took it. Jeff shuddered as he got a good look at the Snickers bar. "All right, maybe it _is_ that bad…" He could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile on Dread's face, but as soon as it registered in his mind, it was gone.

"Anyway," Jeff said, sitting down and motioning for Dread to do the same, "should we get down to what this insanity is all about?"

Dread chose a chair in the corner of the room, giving a curious glance to the one with splintered armrests as he passed it. "Stress chair?" he asked, sounding amused.

Jeff sighed. "Close, Josh chair."

"Ah."

Semi-disturbed by the familiar quality of their conversation, Jefferson Smith decided that he did not want to come across as too friendly to the man who had been trying to destroy him and his organization for years…and vice versa. "Mr. Dread, why are you here?" Jeff folded his hands on his desk and stared at the man sitting in the far corner of the room. He had to admit, it was the first time someone had chosen to sit in a chair other than the one directly in front of the desk.

"I was under the impression that Ms. Leeds was to brief you on my request, Mr. Smith," Dread answered. He had picked up the formal note in Jeff's voice and seemed amused by it.

"Yes, she told me what you wanted, but I am as of now unaware why you would even think such a request is reasonable."

John Dread opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, distracted by one of the framed photographs visible on Jeff's desk. From the expression on his face, Jeff could tell which one it was. "It was Woodstock, okay? Everyone was dressed like that!"

Snapping back to reality, Dread smirked and looked like he wanted to make a comment, but stuck to the topic at hand. "My offer would benefit both our parties equally. My organization would get what we need at the moment, and yours would be rid of Psycho, who I understand has been a great annoyance to you over the years."

"We can take care of Psycho by ourselves, thank you."

"Right. Because we've all seen how well you've been at that."

Jeff glared daggers at the man.

Dread sighed and held up his hands. "I'm not here for a confrontation, Mr. Smith, I just think this deal would help both of us accomplish certain goals."

Jeff leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Dread noticed that _his_ old swivel chair had been replaced, along with the carpeting. He had never liked the carpeting.

While Dread was pondering the carpeting, Jeff was mulling over the newest decision to be made at his executive desk. He knew he could not trust Dread. He knew it. But, the man did have an attractive offer that _would_ benefit both of them…

"All right, John, I will consider allowing you to help N-Tek in the capture and/or assassination of your former freelancer."

"And?"

Jeff sighed. "And your right to stay at N-Tek until the contract is fufilled."

Dread stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Smith."

Jeff had a warning tone in his voice. "I didn't say yes yet, John. I said I'd think about it."

John Dread nodded at him. "Call me Marco."

Jefferson Smith retrieved a bottle of aspirin from a drawer as the other man left the office. He had a feeling that John Dread was not going to make this easy for him.


	3. CIA Dude Makes His Debut

A/N: All right, I have chosen to include a certain agency in this fic because of certain message board conversations (props to Julia, HoneyB, and Akili) and just because I love those bastards so damn much. Ciao!

Chapter 3 

Max Steel and his partner Kat Ryan were standing in a huge pile of rubble-what was left of the American Embassy in France. A well-dressed European man was in front of them, talking quickly to them in French.

Kat stooped and picked up what was left of what used to be a desk drawer. "English, please," she said to the man standing in front of her.

The man checked himself and began again slowly in English. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just so upset! The American Embassy! Surely you know how tense relationships have been between our countries lately!"

Kat nodded and tried to look understanding, but stomped on Max's foot as she heard him mutter something about beret-wearing French fries.

The man looked at them questioningly, but continued after Kat offered no explanation for her action.

"The US government has already been hinting that this could have been the work of some French resistance group, which is certainly-"

"Out of the question?" Kat asked hopefully.

The man hesitated. "Not exactly the words I was going to use, but-"

Kat sighed and rubbed her head with one hand. "So this could've been work of some French group?"

"It is not probable."

"Why do you say that?"

As his partner continued to go back and forth with the official, Max noticed how tired she looked. And why shouldn't she be? Unlike him, she needed time and rest to recharge-not just a few minutes with a generator. All week they had been flying all over the world to sites exactly like the one they were currently standing in.

Ever since he and Berto and been rescued a few weeks ago, there had been an unending streak of terrorist attacks. More than usual. Much more. Someone seemed intent on destroying pretty much every international relationship that had been worked at for decades.

What had been so bothersome about the attacks was that there were no clues as to who or which organization was responsible. Every place N-Tek had been to showed no signs of anything suspicious. Besides the explosives, of course. It seemed like in every location, the foundations of the building had been practically covered in plastic explosives. Usually it wasn't too difficult to trace the manufacturer of the explosives, but these had been different. Upon examining them, N-Tek had been unable to determine who had made the damn things.

Realizing that it might be slightly obvious he wasn't paying attention to the situation at hand, Max decided then would be a good time to tune back in to the conversation going on between Kat and the Frenchman.

"But that still doesn't explain how they got past the security!"

"I know, mademoiselle! Believe me, we've examined the building from every possible angle! There has no evidence of attempted forced entry, no alarm triggered for the last three weeks!"

"Why only three weeks?" Kat looked suspicious.

"A minor mishap," the man waved his hand dismissively. "We had an alarm-one of our security cameras had blacked out. We panicked and sent law enforcement officials to check on the situation. Three units. But…we were embarrassed to see that it was only our head of security cleaning the lens. He had never been previously so conscious of appearance, but there was a rumor of an impending inspection…you get the idea."

Kat nodded. "Yeah, I understand, but-"

She was cut off as the man's cell phone rang. "Excuse me," he said. He moved out of hearing range, but Kat could tell he was having a very heated conversation with whoever was on the other line. She glanced at Max, and gave him an expectant look.

Max feigned a look of surprise. "What, _now_ you want my help?"

Kat crossed her arms. "Not your help, just your hearing."

"I don't speak French! Besides, you hurt my toe."

"You're so full of it!" She picked up a chunk of cement from the surriounding rubble and threw it as hard as she could at his foot. The cement bounced off, and Kat had proven her point. "Steel-enforced boots. You know that. I know that." She picked up a larger piece of cement. "NOW TELL ME WHAT HE'S SAYING OUR I'LL THROW THIS AT YOU WHERE IT'S NOT STEEL-ENFORCED!"

At that moment, the man came back over to them, and Kat grinned sheepishly and dropped the piece of cement before giving Max a dirty look.

The man shrugged, then said "That was my government. They have just received a tip on who might have done this."

"I thought they were talking about gardens," Max said quietly.

"Well, maybe you should pay more attention instead of French class instead of doodling pictures of the teacher's head exploding all the time."

"Hey! Berto wasn't supposed to tell anyone that!"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

The man looked exasperated. "Please! This is a slightly pressing matter here!"

Kat realized how they'd been acting and sighed. "Sorry. It's been a long week."

"I'm sure." The man expressed a look of sympathy, but then continued with what he had to say. "The tip was very clear, but we're not sure yet if it's the real culprits, or others trying to claim credit."

"Better let us be the judge of that," Max said.

"Well, it was a video transmition-"

"Excuse me," a new voice cut into the conversation as a man in a black suit came walking out of what seemed like nowhere.

"Can I help you?" Kat seemed a little ticked off. She just wanted to get this over with and go home. She didn't need any interruptions.

"Agent Williams. We'll be taking over this investigation from here, with assistance from other agencies of course."

"We're one of the 'assisting' agencies on the list, you moron," Kat responded.

"I'm afraid not. You're not on the list of those my agency is specified to cooperate with."

"And what agency is that, exactly?" Kat narrowed her eyes.

"That's not really any of your concern. However, I have a job to do, so if you'll excuse me." With that, he firmly took the arm of the Frenchman Kat and Max had been talking to and led him to a waiting car.

"Hold on!" Kat ran after them and stood in front of the new guy. "If you're going to take the person who was helping us out, you have to at least tell me who the hell you are!"

The man looked around, then noticed the N-Tek symbols on their uniforms. He flashed a badge quickly; Kat hardly saw it. "Central Intelligence Agency, United States. I have a schedule to keep, and you have been relieved as being…too close to the problem. Maybe even part of the problem."

Kat was furious. "YOU CAN'T JUST-"

The man took out a folded piece of paper from inside his suit jacket and handed it to her. "A bench warrant. Goodbye, Ms. Ryan."

Kat and Max stood frozen in the place as the two men got into the car and were driven away.

"Well, I guess that's it," said Max, sounding slightly relieved.

"Like hell it is," answered Kat. She grabbed Max's wrist and led him back to where Hawk was waiting in stealth mode. "We're going to Jefferson. Now."


	4. The Llama Man

_A/N: Fairly, umbrellas can keep You okay, untouched._

Chapter 3 

Max and Kat were on their way back from France, the two of them seated inside the small aircraft that was Hawk, and Berto Martinez silently accompanying them via the small communications screen situated in front of Kat. Max had this thing about being the one to pilot Hawk, but he seemed reluctant to want to argue with his partner, who conducted the plane through a series of harsh turns and sudden accelerations. It seemed Kat was a terrible pilot when pissed off, and coincidentally, that was when she most _wanted_ to be in control. Figured.

Berto, being the more perceptive one, had chosen to remain quiet at all possible times while monitoring their flight. Max, however, felt compelled to test the waters.

"So…" he started, but wasn't sure exactly what would get him a response…and what would get him chewed out by the infuriated woman in the front seat.

"So what," she snapped.

"Hermano," Berto warned softly.

Being his normal stubborn self, Max decided to ignore his friend. "So…that wasn't _that_ bad, now was it?"

Immediately he regretted his choice of words as Hawk went into a barrel roll. Max felt nauseous. He was used to flying, but the whole upside-down deal thousands of feet above the ground got to him, and Kat knew it. Extreme sports, you controlled your momentum and position…but not when someone else was flying.

"Kat-" he managed through gritted teeth.

"Hm?" she smirked, seeming to enjoy herself for the first time all week.

"Cut. That. Out." Max tried not to look as the ground was suddenly below, then above, then below-another wave of nausea washed over him.

"Oh, sorry," she replied in a too-sweet voice, and stopped rolling the craft. They were now flying completely upside down.

"Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!" Max whined.

Berto hid a smile as he watched the scene before him. Who needed paperview?

However, Kat decided that being in a bad mood already, she did not want to listen to Max's whining. She turned Hawk right side up and continued flying without saying another word about it.

Amazingly, Max went an entire twenty minutes without breaking the silence. Then: "Can I talk yet?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because I'm flying, and I can make you puke all over the cabin."

At this, Berto snickered loudly, and earned himself an angry look from Max.

"Hey, Bro, whose side are you on here."

Berto considered this for a moment. "Hers, definitely."

With a huff, Max kept his mouth shut and turned to stare out the window. Thankfully, the view was now right side up.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

It was another hour before the two were back at N-Tek. Right before they landed, Kat had thrown one last barrel roll in, causing Max to go into 'plotting revenge mode'. But in the meantime, he was more curious than angry.

"Now that we're back on the ground again and you have nothing to threaten me with, you want to tell me what's got you so pissed off?" Max asked casually as he and his (still fuming) partner made their way through the mostly empty corridors to get to Jefferson Smith's office.

Talking more to herself than she was to him, she muttered "They think they're so much better just because they have a website."

Max stopped walking for a second and stood in place, trying to make sense of what she had just said. He couldn't. "…_What_!"

Halting her own forward progression, Kat spun around. "I'm just sick of it! I'm sick of other agencies thinking they're so much better then us just because they get more publicity! We do more than most of them combined, and what do we get? No recognition whatsoever!"

Max didn't know what to say. So _that_ was what had her so pissed off. "Well," he said cheerfully, "we're going to see Jeff now anyway! Come on, you can complain to him all you want."

Kat rolled her eyes, knowing Max (or really Josh) wanted to see his dad getting 'talked to' for once instead of him. Still, she took note of that dopey grin on his face and couldn't help but smile. "All right, all right, let's go."

They resumed their walk down the hallway, and Berto was finally able to go back to his chess game, having ensured that Kat had not crashed the plane.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Kat's mood had been drastically improved during the walk to Smith's office, on account of the fact that Berto had updated them on the whereabouts of one of their old…acquaintances. Berto had "found" a police report while surfing the net that mentioned a man attempting to pose as a llama in the local petting zoo. The incident had escalated into a 'police matter' when the man resisted leaving the grounds once the petting zoo closed for the day. He insisted that he had "found his true home". The police had had to forcefully remove the man from the property, and brought him to the station, as he carried no ID and refused to reveal his name. Upon doing a fingerprint scan, they found that the individual had a previous criminal record. The man was identified as a Woody Barkowski, who was (after some deliberation) sent to a hospital for the mentally insane.

Upon hearing this, Kat and Max reacted first with a stunned silence, and then with hysterics.

After finally calming down, Max finally said "I thought the nice men in white lab coats had taken him out a long time ago."

"Nuh-uh," Berto disagreed. "I always knew he was still out there, getting closer and closer to cracking every day."

"You did not."

"Did so," Berto sniffed.

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"As much as I hate to interrupt your conversation," Kat started, rolling her eyes, "it's time to inform Smith that the CIA has screwed up yet another one of our investigations."

"Another?" Max asked blankly. This was the first incident he could remember. "They've never done this before."

"Steel, maybe you should remember that some of us have been here a little longer than you."

"Yeah, _junior_," Berto mocked.

"Hey, Berto, remember that newest version of Fido? The one that hasn't blown up yet?"

Berto sounded nervous. "…Yeah?"

"Watch out for it."

Max heard a flurry of movement over his biolink, and guessed that Berto was probably running to hide Fido XXIX.

"Hey, leave his little pets alone!" Kat protested.

"Since when do you care?"

"I…don't. Come on, let's get this over with." Noting that Jefferson Smith's secretary wasn't at her desk, Kat assumed that the woman was on her coffee break and pushed open the office door.

"Hey, Da-" Max began, then stopped dead in his tracks as he took note of who was sitting in the leather office chair. It wasn't Jefferson Smith.

Max stood in shock as the voice over his biolink contributed "no way."

John Dread gave a half smile and waved charmingly at the two before Max flew over the desk and tackled the man to the ground, and Kat ran to assist. "Where's Jefferson Smith!" Max demanded.

"Right here," came from behind them as the door admitted the form of Josh McGrath's surrogate father.

"Nice timing," Dread commented, with his usual good humor, "Now would you mind calling them off?"

Smith hesitated for a minute, then motioned for Max and Kat to release the man.

Letting go of Dread, Max was still tense. "Explanation, please?" he asked Jeff through gritted teeth.

Jeff sighed heavily and went to help John Dread up off the floor. "Mr. Dread will be here for a while."

Kat snorted. "Yeah, maybe in a jail cell."

"I resent that," Dread answered.

"Well who asked you?" Max shot back.

"If you'll let me finish," Jeff continued, giving Max a stern look, "John Dread will be staying as a…guest…for a short time while he helps us to track down and capture the freelancer we know as Psycho." The corporate executive nearly choked on that g word.

Max and Kat blinked, and Berto was silent. This had to be a joke. It had to be. However, reality was confirmed as Rachel Leeds walked through the door and observed the scene before her. "So you've told them?" she addressed Jefferson Smith.

Smith nodded.

Rachel sighed and now addressed Dread. "Welcome back to N-Tek, Mr. Nathanson."


	5. No Cable?

A/N: Muses young Do only good, Really unanimous leaders eternally speaking. To houses elevated Early arias raise the heavens.

Has Lost Count Of What Chapter This Is

"Welcome back to N-Tek, Mr. Nathanson."

Max blinked, looking from Rachel to Dread, then back at Rachel. "Rachel, his name is John Dread."

"It is now. It used be Marco Nathanson. CEO of N-Tek before Smith took over. He did a lot of good for the organization."

She was about to continue speaking, but at that point Jefferson gave her a very slight shake of the head, which was lost on everyone in the room but her and Max. Or so they thought.

Dread grinned, and Jefferson Smith could all but hear the wheels turning in that sinister mind. "Now now, Ms. Leeds, surely I could've been of more help to N-Tek. Starting with not blowing up the building fifteen years ago."

Max stood in stunned silence as Kat, Rachel, and Jeff refused to look him in the eye. But he could tell the last person in the room was looking right at him, sunglasses or not. Oblivious to the pained looks his surrogate father was giving him, Max worked on processing what he had just found out. Dread had blown up the building, and Dread was Marco Nathanson, so it meant that Marco Nathanson had blown up the building.

He was suddenly hit with a powerful flashback of that day. Sirens had woken him during the early hours of the morning. He had gotten out of his "big boy bed" and padded down the stairs to find his babysitter, looking like she had just been woken up from a nap, on the phone. As she noticed him listening in on the conversation, her side of the exchange became more terse. Going to the window, he stood on his tip-toes to see over the ledge. Two fire engines sailed by, lights blaring and illuminating flashes of the blackest sky he had ever seen. Josh stood where he was for a minute after the trucks had past, wondering what could've possibly caused this rude awakening. Just about to turn away, he heard another sound- a car approaching. Transfixed, he watched as the comparatively quiet Ford made a sharp turn into the driveway-just narrowly missing the trash cans sitting on the curb for the men who would come to empty them in a few hours.

Knowing that the car in the driveway didn't belong to his father, Josh watched curiously to see who got out of the car. He only had to wait a few seconds before the round-shaped head and broad shoulders exiting the vehicle identified the individual to be his Uncle Jeff. A visit from Uncle Jeff, though appreciated, wasn't exactly a rare occasion, as the man was his father's best friend and all but lived in their house with them. Curiosity satisfied, Josh decided to go back into the kitchen and see if he could get the babysitter to tuck him back in.

Turning the corner into the kitchen, he was about to speak when he saw the look on the woman's face, and decided it would be better to wait for Uncle Jeff. The babysitter didn't like him very much as it was. It could've had something to do with the time he had knocked her over on his skateboard and broken her ankle. He left the room before she noticed he was there, and had caught the words "explosion" and "casualties" but neither had really meant anything to him. Explosions were cool, sure, but he was never allowed near them, and he had no idea what the word "casualties" meant. He was just pondering whether or not it would be worth getting yelled at to steal some cookies from the jar next to the fridge when he heard the front door open.

Deciding against the cookies, Josh ran to the man who had just entered the house, and tugged on his pant leg. "Uncle Jeff! Uncle Jeff! I need you to tuck me in because I got up when I heard the firetrucks go by and then I wanted to get some cookies but I don't really want them and there's a monster under my bed and I need you to come with me so he doesn't eat me and I have to wake up early tomorrow because the X-games are on and I want to see Tony Hawk and…and…" he looked up as he heard an odd noise-had Uncle Jeff just sniffled? He must have a cold. But he looked up again to see that the man was biting his lip, and his voice wavered when he spoke.

"Sure, I'll come tuck you in Josh."

But that was it. As the man led Josh up the stairs and back to his room, there was no idle chatter, no asking if he had behaved himself for the babysitter even though the answer to that question was already known, nothing. Josh wanted to ask him what had made him so sad, why he was here when it was still dark out, but something about the man's demeanor made him hesitate. Josh hadn't seen his uncle act like this since that time last year when he had come over and sat at the kitchen table staring into space, while his dad said "Linda wasn't worth it." Whatever that meant. Josh recognized that same look of loss and grief. He wondered what his Uncle Jeff had lost this time.

"Just stay in bed for the rest of the night, ok Josh?" Jeff asked as he smoothed the boy's bed sheets. "There are a few things I have to take care of, then I'll come back."

The man stood up to leave, but Josh raised his body up a little and propped himself up on his elbows, ruining the flat-looking surface Jeff had created on his bed. "When's my dad gonna be home? Did he tell you? He promised he would stop working late so much. Did you talk to him tonight?"

Jeff had looked like he was getting himself under control until Josh said this. Biting his lip again, it was a minute or so before he spoke. "You're dad's not going to be home today. I didn't talk to him tonight. I wasn't at work. I-" he had started to say more, but instead rushed out the room.

Josh wasn't really bothered by all this. Grown-ups acted funny all the time. It wasn't until later that next day that Josh began to get a funny feeling. His Uncle Jeff had been home with him all day- weird when his dad wasn't home. Josh had enjoyed Jeff's company until the older man had refused to let him watch the x-games, because he wanted to watch the news.

_Stupid stinky news_, Josh thought. There was never anything good on the news. Peeking into the room, Josh noticed that there was some lady talking and a big building on fire in the background. He thought it looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Oh well. He went into his room, grabbed a pink rubber handball and went into the hallway to throw it against the far wall and catch it again. This was a forbidden past time due to the many breakables in the area, but the vacant expression on his uncle's face had not escaped Josh, and the boy wanted to see just how much he could get away with.

Losing his interest after ten minutes of the throw and catch game, Josh went to check on his uncle again when he saw the clock. Squinting to see the arrow-like things that pointed to all the numbers, Josh could see that the short one was halfway between the six and the seven. Josh couldn't really tell time yet, but his dad had always told him that when the little hand was on the seven, he would be home. Happy that his dad would finally be back, Josh parked himself on the floor in front of the front door, and sat tossing the little pink ball up and down, waiting for his dad to come home. Since he was able to see the clock on the wall from his position, Josh concentrated on the hand as it edged closer and closer to the seven. He was going to yell at his dad when he got home. Unless he brought him a present. Then he wouldn't mind so much.

Josh had not realized he had fallen asleep until he opened his eyes and saw the short hand was now halfway past the seven and the eight. His dad must be home! But where was he? When he fell asleep, his dad always found him and brought him to bed. His dad always came in the front door when the short hand was on the seven. Always. Sitting against the wall, perplexed as a child of four can be, Josh was still in the same position when Jefferson Smith found him.

"Josh?" the man asked unsurely, "What're you doing?"

"I was waiting for Daddy…but he's not here. Why isn't Daddy here, Uncle Jeff? Where is he? He promised he'd be home when-when…" upset at the realization that his father had lied to him, Josh stopped talking, and just stared up at the tall figure of his uncle above him. Brown eyes wide, the beginnings of tears forming, he couldn't have looked more pitiful. Getting down to Josh's level, sitting down on the floor next to him, Jefferson Smith put his arms around his best friend's son and started to explain the terrible truth.

Max suddenly snapped back to reality as he felt someone tug lightly on his arm. Realizing he had let the expression on his face soften significantly, Max quickly hardened his features so that he regained his former unreadable countenance. Angered at having been caught in such a delicate train of thought, he quickly looked around the room to see who had noticed. Everyone, of course.

He sighed heavily, and began to form some sort of explanation when the door to Jeff's office swung open without notice, and admitted a sixth person to the gathering. A familiar redhead lurched into the office on crutches, her left leg in a large white cast.

"All this technology available to you idiots, and you don't even have cable!"

Dread stood up to give his chair to the newcomer. "Now, Abigail, be polite to our hosts."

The girl rolled her eyes, and took the chair without thanking her grandfather. She looked up to see Max staring at the cast. "Got a problem, turbo-boy?"

Max was about to respond with something incredibly witty, but was stopped as the floor suddenly began to move, until it was inches from his face, and then everything went black.


	6. Return of the Pancakes

A/n: Yeah…um…really short. This was as far as I got in my head, and the whole writing thing is not coming easily today. Whatever the Hell Chapter This Is 

After Max collapsed, Berto had gone back to the console to make sure there wasn't any reason for the incident besides the obvious factor of stress. Kat and Rachel went off to lead Abigail to her room, which of course she would not find satisfactory. This left Jefferson Smith and John Dread to escort the unconscious Max to the medlab via wheelchair. The seemingly interminable walk was filled with maybe one of the most awkward silences ever created…at least for Jeff.

Furious with the way things had gone as it was, the squeaking wheel on the wheelchair and the smug look on Dread's face Jeff knew he wasn't imagining did not help matters. Dread opened hid mouth to say something, and Jeff cringed inwardly. As much as he loathed the silence, he knew he would hate whatever 'words of wisdom' the traitorous man next to him felt obliged to share at the moment.

"So tell me, do all your agents faint so easily?"

Jeff ground his teeth together and refused to say anything. The squeaking wheel seemed to grow louder.

"Well, really," Dread continued on casually, "if I had previously known he went down so easily I would've told him some shocking bit of information _before_ he was done destroying my bases."

"Well it's too late for that now, because he did. They're all gone," Jeff answered with the hint of a smirk.

"Perhaps." Mused Dread. "But that's not because of him."

"Oh really?"

"The destruction of my bases is a result of an employee gone bad. Not a mutated boy."

"What's the employee of the month so angry about?"

Dread was silent for a minute. "That remains to be seen."

Jeff was struggling to find a suitable retort when he was saved by their arrival at N-Tek's medical center, where Dr. Yevshenko quickly ushered them inside.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Leaving the house half an hour after his roommate had jolted him from sleep, Blaine walked to the curb where his decrepit old Toyota sat on got in. Less than ecstatic to see the pile of pancakes his disgruntled roommate had oh-so-happily stacked on the passenger seat, he shook his head, opened the door, and pushed them out of the car with his foot. His car now stinking of overcooked pancakes, he drove off to where he would learn about this morning's job offer. Some sport supplies company in Del Oro Bay. Unusual, but he'd had weirder meeting places.


	7. An Alarm Clock to the Head

_A/N: Finally got something written! Woohoo! Hm…seems to be a lot of commas in this one..Oh well. This was written in an extraordinary fit of laziness (a.k.a. in between games of freecell), so sorry if it sucks. _

Chapter Whatever

From the clock on the wall, Max knew that it was 2:30 AM immediately when he woke up, but where he was and how he'd gotten there wasn't so clear. Looking around and blinking, he slowly discovered that he was in the medbay…again. Sighing heavily, he brought himself into a sitting position and closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning. Coming to the correct conclusion that he had probably smacked his head on something, he blinked a few more times, then slowly got to his feet. He vowed to kill Kat if he found out she had anything to do with this.

Deciding to get out of there and into the bed he kept in his room on base, he quickly but unsteadily, crossed the room and let himself out. Dr. Yevshenko, most likely asleep, had obviously expected him to want to leave, as no alarms had announced his passage into the hallway. Pleading with the floor to stop moving, a bad feeling in his stomach told Max something had been wrong before everything had gone black. He remembered being called into his dad's office, but couldn't remember much after that. As the floor lurched again he had the feeling that maybe he didn't exactly **want** to remember what had happened.

Relieved that his journey down the ever-moving hallway was finally at an end, Max arrived at his room and entered his access code into the key panel. The area of the building was already in a secure section of the complex, so Jefferson Smith hadn't really seen the need to install retinal scanners or other additional security checks in each individual room. Upon entering the room, Max was surprised by a low grumbling sound. Immediately taking the defensive, he jumped back against the wall and got ready to respond. However, upon a moment's observation, it became obvious that Max wasn't in any danger at all…Berto had just fallen asleep on the former's cot.

Rolling his eyes, Max carefully picked up his "bro" and left the room, carrying him out the door, and unfortunately, back into the hallway. Max mumbled to himself as he carried his unconscious coworker four doors down to his own room. "You see, Bro?" He said, addressing the seemingly lifeless figure in his arms, "This is what happens when you stay up all night playing computer games. You end up going to sleep in my room. What if you'd ended up in Kat's room, hm?" But Berto, still asleep, made no movement to protest Max's teasing.

Oddly enough, when Max got to Berto's room, he saw the door was slightly ajar. Shaking his head at the sleeping form that was Berto, he said "Now that's not good. What would Rachel say?" Still talking as he edged the door farther open with the toe of his boot, Max thought about the possibility of someone who was paid to design things to keep the rest of them safe being so lax about his own personal security.

Once inside the room, Max moved against the wall and used his shoulder to flick the light switch into the 'on' position. Recognizing the shape of yet another sleeping person in Berto's bed made him realize nothing was going to go easily tonight. "Kat? Is that you?" He demanded. The shape under the covers looked about Kat's size, he guessed. "Kat? Come on, the genius needs his sleep. See, unlike you he actually needs to **use** his brain during the day." Still getting no response, he raised one foot and prodded the sleeping form with it. "KAT!"

"I WAS SLEEPING YOU MORON!" The voice and flash of red hair that accompanied it identified the no-longer-sleeping form as a person who was definitely not Kat.

Getting what was very possibly the nastiest shock of his week, Max yelped, dropped Berto, and stumbled backwards.

"Problem?" Dread's granddaughter asked, narrowing her eyes and sitting up in bed.

"What are you doing here!"

In response, Abigail rolled her eyes and addressed Berto, who was also now awake, instead. "He doesn't remember, does he?"

Berto glanced at Max as he got to his feet and winced. "Guess not…Did you drop me!"

At this time, Max decided that getting out of bed, medlab or not, was a bad idea. "Tell me what? Why were you in my room, and why is she in yours? " he asked hesitantly.

Berto sighed. "Um…remember the whole thing in Jeff's office…you know with um…"

Dread took this moment to pop his head in through the doorway. "Anything wrong?" he drawled lazily.

"…With him…" Berto finished, then glanced around the room nervously.

"Ohhhhh, I get it! I'm dreaming! All right. Hope you don't mind if I wake up now."

Abigail smiled sweetly and threw the alarm clock at him, hitting Max square in the forehead.

"OW!"

"I would say not dreaming," Dread said decisively. "Now, I'm going back to bed. Abigail, play nice?"

"Always."

"Hm." Dread seemed to know he had raised no angel.

After Dread's exit, Max first rubbed at his forehead where the clock had struck him, then went rigid.

"He remembered!" Abigail crowed gleefully, noting the shocked look on his face.

"Hermano? You okay?" Berto asked slowly.

Without another word to either of them, Max left the room and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Berto and Abigail alone. A few seconds later, Berto heard what he was pretty sure to be the sound of someone punching holes in the wall as they walked down the corridor.

Berto looked nervously at Abigail, and edged towards the door, being careful not to turn his back on her. "I'm…uh…gonna go work on some stuff now."

"More exploding dogs?"

"…No."

"All right! Bye!" Abigail called after him as the door swung shut. Alone in the dark, she smiled. "This is going to be fun."


	8. It's Pink!

Some Chapter

The clock seemed to change form before his eyes as Max sat in the conference room staring at it. Six o'clock. Way too early to be conscious. Looking around the room, he could tell by his dad's bloodshot eyes and Berto's nodding head that he wasn't the only one who didn't sleep much last night. They hadn't even heard anything from Kat yet.

Jeff shifted in his chair, and looked like he was about to say something when the door swung open and admitted the third member of Team Steel…wearing a hat. She turned her back on the three men in the room, closed the door, and then went to sit down in her usual chair near the window. Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, she sat and stared at the polished wood surface of the conference table.

Max looked from Kat to Jeff, then from Kat to Berto. Berto shrugged, but said nothing. Max looked back at his partner.

"Kat?"

"What do you want, Steel?" came the grumbled reply.

"You're not supposed to wear hats inside the building you know."

"So?" The reply had a venomous sound to it that would let any ordinary person know they would have to be stupid to continue. Max could be thick under normal circumstances, but after two hours of sleep he had no chance.

"So…you should take it off?"

She gave him a glare in reply, but said nothing.

Jeff sighed, but motioned for Kat to take off the hat so he could continue on with his presentation without the three people sitting before him being distracted anymore than they already were.

Giving a sigh of indignation, Kat yanked the baseball cap off her head and sat there with her arms folded, glaring defiantly at the three of them, challenging them to say anything.

This time it was Berto who couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Kat, your hair!"

Kat rolled her eyes, then responded "Yeah, thanks for that. I hadn't noticed anything was wrong."

Max giggled. "It's pink!"

And he was right. Kat's hair was a bubble gum pink. All except for her bangs, which though usually blue, were now a light purple color.

Kat made a movement to stand up, but Jeff had anticipated her reaction and was already behind her with his hands on her shoulders. He pushed her back into her chair. "Listen to briefing now, kill my son later."

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, but continued to throw murderous looks at Max and Berto whenever she caught them looking at her out of the corners of their eyes.

Afraid to turn his back on the three at first, Jefferson finally got his hastily prepared presentation started. Using a remote control, he dimmed the lights to make the square of light projected on the far wall easier to see.

"What, no popcorn?" Max commented.

Berto rolled his eyes, and Kat made some unintelligible comment accompanied by a derisive snort.

"What you are about to see," Jeff started, ignoring all three of them, "is a surveillance video from Berlin. In my opinion, I think it's pretty self-explanatory." With that, he clicked another button and sat down at the table along with the three members of Team Steel to watch along with them.

The tape began with an image of a mostly empty lobby, which became less and less lively until only the two security guards were left at the big desk against the back wall of the lobby. All was quiet, and then without warning, one of the guards looked at the door, did a double-take, and sprung out of his seat. The other guard jumped up and grabbed his gun, but only half a second before the wall flew inwards, obscuring the camera's view in one huge cloud of dust.

When the dust cleared, it left the two security guards lying motionless on the floor, and two people standing where the front door used to be.

"Hurry up, someone would've noticed that," one of them said, but that went unnoticed by the youngest three people in the room as they realized who the two people were. Or…actually it was more like two of the same people. Jeff paused the video at that place, freezing two Psychos standing amid the rubble.

Observing the gaping agents sitting before him, Jefferson decided he would be able to finally speak uninterrupted. "The camera was taken out right after this point right here. Now, we're assuming Psycho's found some way to clone himself. That's the only explanation we could think of, really." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Berto shaking his head slowly. Jeff turned to face him. "Problem, Dr. Martinez?"

"It's a good theory…but for a bunch of reasons it's not possible."

"We figured as much. Care to explain?"

"Well, first-" Berto pointed to the two Psychos-both had bionic parts "if Psycho had cloned himself, the clone wouldn't have the bionic limb and face because he wasn't born with it, so it isn't in his DNA. And second, clones start out as infants, they aren't 'born' the same age as their counterparts."

"What about my clone? And Rachel's?"

"That was new technology like the max probes only available to N-Tek," Jeff answered. "So basically, we're back to square one. No theories, no idea on how this is possible."

Berto shrugged. "Sorry."

They sat there in silence, Berto and Max now flat-out staring at Kat's head as she mouthed wordless threats to them, all three of them waiting for Jeff to either come up with something for them do to or to tell them they could leave. And then the door swung open.

"Morning everyone!" Abigail called energetically as she entered the room with her wheelchair, letting the door bang into the wall as it opened, leaving a dent from the doorknob in the plaster.

"YOU!" Kat jumped up from her chair and flew across the room at the other woman, stopped mid-attack by Max's grabbing her around the mid-section.

"Let. Me. Go!" She snarled as she attempted to escape from his grasp.

"Kat, what's the matter with you! We've been through this, remember? She and Dread are staying here? That whole thing?"

"I know that!"

"Well then what are you freaking out about!"

"She's the one that did this to my hair!"

Max let go abruptly, and Kat fell onto the floor. "She made your hair pink?"

Kat scrambled up, brushing her uniform off. "What, do you think I'd do this myself!"

"We never know with you…" Berto mumbled before being silenced with a deadly glare.

"Well, I didn't do it, so you can just cool off. You're hair looks better now anyway," Abigail commented as she pulled up to the table with her wheelchair.

"Nobody else has access to my shampoo bottle."

Abigail shrugged. "With all the radiation and weird chemicals around here, it probably just warped. Happens all the time."

Berto started to open his mouth in defense of his 'radiation and weird chemicals' when yet another person entered the room to add to the party.

"Dread, get out of here," Jefferson groaned.

"I told you to call me Nathanson, Jeff, and I think I'll stay."

"This is ridiculous!" Jeff fumed. "This is official N-Tek business and does not concern you."

Dread took a look at the screen, then answered quietly "Yes, I think it does."

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, Jefferson motioned for Dread to finish his thought.

"Well," the man started, "Psycho obviously doesn't have the brains to accomplish his recent feats all by himself, so we're agreed he must be having some help?"

Jefferson nodded slowly.

"Well, there's another former employee who left my organization with some bitter feelings towards me as well."

"Oh, her." Abigail curled her lip. "I never liked her."

"Dragonelle?" Berto questioned.

Jefferson nodded grimly.

"Well at least we agree on something," Max replied.

"That doesn't make sense," Kat interjected. "She's never disguised herself as a male before, it would be too difficult."

"Whoever said old dogs can't learn new tricks has obviously never had any pets."


	9. What, like it's hard?

_A/N: All right, in the planning stage this chapter was supposed to go on for another four pages, but I of course am too damn lazy to write that much at one time, so it got split. _

Has Given Up Trying To Remember What Chapter This Is

Jefferson Smith sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. He was going to need that second Valium today. Seated at the table in front of him were the three members of Team Steel, all expressing different degrees of annoyance or uneasiness, and the two newest tenants of the N-Tek building: Dread and Abigail. Smith had thought he had gotten them all finally under control, and thought that he would finally have a break. All was going well until the issue of how to get to Psycho and Dragonelle was brought up. Jefferson's plan was safe, but involved bailing if anything went even slightly awry, while Dread insisted on an elaborate plan that, though very intelligent, was likely to get them all killed.

The disagreement of the two sides of course eventually led to such an uproar that Jefferson became thankful he had soundproofed the walls when the room was first designated as a boardroom. Finally calling attention to the bickering group in front of him, he announced that no actions would be taken (with a meaningful glance at Max) until further information was gathered. Then he dismissed them all so he could maintain what was left of his sanity.

Because no one seemed exactly keen on leaving the boardroom, Jefferson decided to help them along by going to the door, opening it, and pointing the way out. Or at least he was planning on pointing once he opened the door. However, he was distracted when a slightly ticked-off Rachel Leeds was standing there in the hall waiting for him. Finally taking the hint, Kat, Berto, and Max exited the room and went down the hall in separate ways, leaving Jeff standing in the hallway with Rachel.

"We have to talk, Mr. Smith," Rachel started.

Jefferson sighed and checked his watch. "Does it have to be right now, Rachel? I'm late for a meeting with French intelligence."

"I was just wondering," Rachel continued, "why Mr. Dread has level five security access? Forty percent of our staff in this sector only has level four."

Jeff looked stunned. "I only gave him level two."

Rachel stared at him. "And may I ask what Abigail was given?"

Jeff looked at her uncertainly. "…Level one…Rachel, where are you going with this?"

"And you haven't allowed either of them to be in possession of a weapon while they're staying at N-Tek, correct?"

"Rachel, what are you, insane! I get jumpy if John Dread gets near a butter knife in my base! Now what is going on!"

"Maybe you should see this." Rachel reached into her suit jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of printer paper.

Jefferson unfolded a piece of paper with some kind of computerized list on it. "Rachel, summarize. I don't have time for this."

"That list," Rachel began "is the registry sheet for the new transphasic-powered handgun we've been developing for characters like Vitriol and Psycho who need a little extra punch."

"With you so far."

"These two names," Rachel stood next to Jeff and pointed out two miniscule word groupings halfway down the sheet, "were not put on the list by N-Tek staff. In fact, they seemed to have appeared overnight."

Raising the paper so that it was about three inches from his face, Jefferson squinted to make out the names Rachel was pointing to. Cursing the stupid type font, it took him a few seconds before he could make them out. Then his eyes widened. "DREAD!" He turned and yelled towards the open door of the conference room.

"It's Nathanson!" the man inside the conference room called back good-naturedly.

Jeff clutched the piece of paper in his hand and stormed into the room, leaving a satisfied-looking Rachel standing where he had left her. Going up to Dread, he thrust the piece of paper into the other man's face and shook it angrily.

"What is the meaning of this Dread!"

"Nathanson."

"I refuse to call you by that name! Now tell me-"

"Marco then."

"I don't care what you want to be called, that is not the issue here. Now do you care to explain this!"

"Well, I can't exactly read it if you continue to wave it around in my face like that," Dread sniffed.

Jefferson stopped waving the paper and held it out to Dread, who took it and glanced at it for a few seconds before a ghost of a smile crept up on his face, then quickly left before it could fully manifest itself.

"That! I saw that!"

"Saw what?" Dread sighed.

"You smiled!"

"No, I don't believe I did."

"Well you were going to!"

"How do you know what I was or wasn't going to do?"

"I don't have time for this! Now tell me what's going on or the deal's off."

"It's just a childish prank, that's all."

"Tell me how a childish prank gets someone level five security access!"

Dread didn't answer, but instead slowly turned to face the third person in the room, who Jeff had completely forgotten about up until then.

Abigail smiled sweetly. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked with mock innocence.

"How did you put your name on this list?" Jeff demanded.

"What, like it's hard?" she rolled her eyes. "Just because you're probably computer illiterate doesn't mean the rest of the world is. Go ask brain boy to try and put his name on the list and see how long it takes him."

Jeff was saved from having to stand there and sputter at the two of them by his cell phone ringing. "Hello? Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up the phone by snapping it shut and glared at the two of them. "If I find any more evidence of the two of you playing around where you're not supposed to be, N-Tek will just have to go after Psycho on our own. Got it?"

Dread made a shooing motion with his hands. "Sure. Now run along. You don't want to be late to your little meeting."

Partially to stop himself from screaming, and partially because he **was** late to his meeting, Jeff took off down the hallway without another word, leaving the two newest occupants of the N-Tek building in the conference room.

Abigail turned to her grandfather and held up her cell phone. "How come **he** gets reception in here?"

Dread looked around casually. "The building probably has its own hookup. Now you go and play nice, I have to meet with someone myself."

"Who?" she raised an eyebrow.

"For once that's my own business, I'm afraid, but I trust you'll find out in good time…" leaving Abigail maddeningly curious, he too left the room and walked down the corridor.

Abigail rolled her eyes and waited half a minute before grasping her crutches and getting to her feet. "He **does** know I'm going to follow him anyway, right?" She left and made her way down the hallway in the direction she had seen her grandfather go, cursing the noise the stupid crutches made the entire way.


	10. Stupid Coldness

A/N: All right, first of all I'm aware that Del Oro is probably in southern California or somewhere that doesn't really get cold, and that the above ground part of N-Tek is more than two stories, but oh well.

Whatever 

He couldn't say he was exactly surprised when he heard the soft clunking of his granddaughter's crutches following him down the hallway. He **had** always taught her to be persistent. Oh well, it didn't matter anyway. She couldn't follow him where he was going, no matter how much she might want to. Nobody could, really. He walked briskly down the hallway in the direction of Jefferson Smith's office, a well-known route, but then turned right instead or left, placing himself in a new passageway with a large metallic door at the end of it. Perhaps one of the most secure doors in the entire complex, it was designed to accommodate only Marco Nathanson himself; it included three different security checks, and the door itself was created to be impenetrable by force. This way it was kept as a one-way door, and would not admit intruders from the outside.

Reaching the door, Dread noted with interest the lack of dust on the barrier. Evidently someone had been toying with it- Jefferson Smith would've obviously wanted to know what was behind it. It would be awkward for a CEO to have questions about his own base. After typing in his password, the last of the three security checks, Dread sighed as he heard another noise 30 or so feet away down the hall. Abigail was obviously still tailing him. He quickly took out a small pad of paper, wrote a few words, and then placed it on the ledge the password keyboard sat on. Satisfied, he walked through the door, which closed as soon as he was out of its path.

The lights immediately came on once the door had closed, and Dread surveyed the room with satisfaction. Though it had a self-contained ventilation system, the items inside were all coated with a somewhat thick layer of dust. Evidently Smith had not been able to gain access. Good. In more turbulent times, the room had been created as a shelter for the then CEO Marco Nathanson. However, being as he was the only one with access to it, he soon began to use it for storage for experiments of…questionable ethics.

Looking around the room, the storage space of nightmares, Dread felt a small pang of sentimentality. Here his dreams of grandeur had started. Examining a few test tubes, he found the primitive stages of the first DREDD probes, among with some other projects that had never quite evolved. Fighting off the urge to take inventory and check on all the things he had left behind so long ago, he went to the other side of the room where there was an elevator like the one found in the gardening shed many levels above, but much more secure.

Hearing the door swish closed, Abigail quickly peered around the corner and saw the door; her grandfather was now out of sight. Finally. Giving up all pretenses of being silent, she rushed down the hallway towards the door, excited when she saw the keypad drilled into a small ledge next to the door. Passwords were easy to guess, and if not, there were other ways of figuring them out based on the keypad itself. However, as she got closer, she saw there was also what looked like a microphone, presumably voice sensitive, and a fingerprint scanner. Deciding to try the door anyway, she found that it was of course unmovable. Looking down at the keypad, she spotted the note. Written in Dread's handwriting were the words "Everything will be explained later. Now go study."

Enraged, she crumpled up the note and threw it down on the floor. He always told her everything! Why should now be any different? What was so important that he would hide from **her**? Didn't he always talk about how she was to take over everything after him? How did he expect her to take over if she didn't know what was going on half the time?

She started to storm off towards the small room she had been designated but then stopped, knowing that she would most likely run into one of the goody-goody Team Steel members. No thanks. She would pass on that one. Instead, she turned and made her way towards the elevator banks. One of the best aspects of the architecture, her grandfather had always said, was the roof. The commercial face of N-Tek was only two stories high, except for the parking garage area, which was about the equivalent of one and a half stories. It was supposed to be a good place for thinking, he had said. Whatever, she thought. She just wanted some place to get out of this lousy basement.

Standing outside the opening of the unloading dock of the parking garage, Blaine sighed heavily. He hated it when people were late. Okay, he thought, holding up his wrist for a quick glance at his watch, maybe the guy wasn't late exactly. But Blaine had been there ten minutes early, to scope out the place, and now stood still and waiting, watching the monotonous current of traffic in and out of the garage. It seemed like he had been waiting for an hour, not- he glanced at his watch again- eight minutes.

Discovering that he had started to get a little twitchy from the cold air, he pulled out a cigarette from his inner coat pocket, and leaned against the cement building, trying to relax. Clients liked to see a calm, collected man when they spoke with him- not someone who looked like they had a collection of nervous ticks and might go off at any minute.

Feeling a little less tense, he decided that the cigarette had served its purpose, and flicked it into the path of one of the eighteen-wheelers exiting the garage. Maybe if he was lucky the truck would have some kind of gas leak and explode, creating some goddamn heat. No such luck. The truck passed by without incidence, leaving the cigarette lying on the pavement.

Holding back a heavy sigh, he turned his wrist and checked his watch for the third time. Looking up, he almost jumped; there was a man standing right next to him.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," Dread commented.

"Um…no…not really," Blaine was a little uneasy. He wasn't used to people surprising **him**. "You **are** John Dread, right?"

After pacing back and forth for fifteen minutes, trying to think of someway to figure out where her grandfather had gone and how to follow him, Abigail finally gave up and leaned against the railing. If John Dread didn't want to be followed, he wasn't followed. End of story. She kicked the railing and was rewarded with a hollow "clung" sound, and a sharp pain in her foot. Genius.

Standing there for a while, trying to think of ways to bring chaos to N-Tek, she suddenly caught the smell of cigarette smoke. She wrinkled her nose. She hated smokers. She looked down to see who the culprit was, and saw a guy with shaggy black hair and a baggy denim jacket standing there, looking a little cold and smoking a stupid cigarette. She was thinking about finding a small chunk of cement to drop on him when she saw what the man had missed as he checked his watch. She saw her grandfather seem to emerge from the side of the building. She blinked. Now she **really** wanted to see what was behind that metal door.

She moved away from the railing just enough so that she wouldn't be visible from below, and congratulated herself on her luck.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," she heard her grandfather say, but just barely. She couldn't make out the second man's response. She got as close to the railing as she dared, and listened until she heard Dread's voice again.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time before I'm missed, but here's the paperwork."

Abigail edged still closer to the edge of the roof so she could peer down. If either of the two looked up, they would definitely see her, but she had to take that risk. She saw Dread hand a thin manila folder to the second man, who opened it and leafed through the contents. She couldn't see what they were, but the folder only contained about six pieces of paper in total.

The stranger was silent as he browsed through the file. "N-Tek, huh? So he works in this place? What's so important about sporting equipment?"

"He works for N-Tek, yes, but not the sporting equipment side of it."

"So, are you going to tell me what the "other side" is, or do I have to guess?"

"Oh, you'll see for yourself. You're going to be staying there."

"I already have a place to stay-"

"It's part of the job. You **do** remember the payoff we're talking about, don't you?"

The man sighed. "All right, all right. I'm listening."

"Thank you. Now, I'll get you into the base, and you'll stay there for as long as it's required."

"Fine, whatever." The man went silent again as he continued to read over the papers. "…He's pretty young for where he is, isn't he? I mean usually it takes years to-"

"Special circumstances, I assure you. He shouldn't even be alive right now."

"And I guess I'm here to fix that fact?"

"Exactly. Get acquainted with that information, and be back here at six tomorrow morning."

The man looked up from the folder and started to protest, but Dread was already gone. "I hate morning jobs."

Abigail quickly backed away from the ledge, and headed towards the elevators. She was supposed to be studying, so that's where she'd be. She hadn't heard anything. Nope. She smiled to herself. She was getting good, she thought, if she could get one over on her grandfather.

One of the elevators arrived, and she entered, then watched the doors close with a swish sound. So, someone was finally going to get rid of that Max Steel nuisance. But what made Dread think that some freelancer could do it? Hadn't they tried that before? Abigail was disappointed. This big important plan was to get some nobody to whack Max Steel? And keep it a secret from her? She didn't care if he found out she was listening. She was going to have a little talk with her grandfather and see what the hell he thought he was doing.


	11. Waffles Suck Too

_A/N: All right. To clear things up. The door in the last chapter is indestructible. Even by Max. If someone blows the whole damn building up, the door will still be there. Maybe it was built by magical circus midgets. Maybe it has nanoprobes in it too. Maybe it is alive and kills all who come near it. Bottom line? The door is indi-fuckin-structible. Thank you and good day. _

It was all bright yellow sun, white sand, and clear water. It was beautiful, and accompanied by soft ukulele music. It was nice and calm and relaxing. It was suddenly interrupted by machine gun fire.

Blaine yelled and fell out of his bed. Looking around in a panic and scrambling for cover, he tried to determine who the hell was shooting at him, and instead was rewarded with the sight of his roommate sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed.

"Surprise!" Jack chirped cheerfully as the machine gun chatter continued.

"What the hell! I was sleeping, you moron!"

Jack replied, but his words were covered up by the continuing noise.

"WHAT!" Blaine yelled, trying to hear him.

"I SAID," Jack yelled over the noise, "IT'S A TAPE RECORDER UNDER YOUR PILLOW! TURN IT OFF SO WE CAN HEAR!"

Blaine moved from where he had fallen to the side of his bed, thrust his hand under the pillow, and was rewarded with a silver tape recorder still spitting gunfire noises. "HOW THE HELL DO YOU TURN IT OFF!"

Jack was about to answer, but then stopped himself. "I…DON'T REALLY KNOW! IT'S NEW! TRY FUMBLING WITH THE SWITCHES!"

Blaine answered by tossing the shiny silver machine into the fish tank three feet away. The noise got softer immediately, then became bubbly, then stopped.

Jack sighed. "Should have seen that coming."

Blaine glared at him. "Yeah, and you owe me a new eardrum you idiot. Why the hell'd you do that!"

Jack shrugged. "You said to wake you up at 5:30. It's 5:30 now."

Blaine stared at him. "So?"

Jack remained cheerful. "So, it's time to get up!"

"What are you, crazy? It's 5:30." Blaine got back into his bed and pulled the covers over himself.

"Come on! I made waffles!"

"I hate waffles."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Somehow he got himself out of bed, through the gauntlet of waffles, and back to N-Tek only five minutes late. He pulled up to the curb going 60 mph, and left skid marks when he stopped. He got out of the car grinning; he always loved doing that. His host was not amused.

"Are we done playing games now?" Dread asked dryly.

Blaine got out of the car and went over to the part of the sidewalk where the man was standing. "It's 6 AM and I'm here; I wouldn't be too picky about my entrance."

Dread stared at him. "It was 6 AM five minutes ago, not now, so I'll be as …picky… as I want to be. Are you ready to start, or not?"

"Yeah, fine."

He listened as Dread explained where the mark would be most of the time, times he'd probably be alone, what time he got in to work, etc. While listening, he scanned the area, and saw someone who, he was pretty sure, hadn't been there before. A redhead, probably in her early twenties, who might have been attractive if she did not have that permanent "bitch" expression on her face. She did not seem too thrilled to see him.

Dread followed the direction of his gaze and realized that someone else was there with them. "Abigail, it's rude to lurk in the shadows. Come over here and introduce yourself."

Blaine heard the girl mutter something like "I wasn't lurking," and watched as she turned on her heel and walked back towards the dark garage she had appeared out of instead of coming forward to introduce herself.

Dread seemed inclined to drop the subject, but Blaine looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Dread sighed. "My granddaughter," he gestured towards where her form had disappeared back into the shadows. "You'll be seeing a lot of her around the base."

"Your granddaughter? So…she-"

"Does not know anything about our arrangement, and will remain in the dark until the plans are carried out."

"All right…look I know you obviously know her a lot better than I do, but she doesn't seem like the kind of person you can keep secrets from for long."

Dread sighed again and rubbed his temples. "I'll be going on a very active misinformation campaign. Now, we don't have a lot of time; we have to get in soon. So…" Dread pulled a DREDD minion uniform out of a paper bag and handed it to him.

Blaine picked up the thing, held it up, and started laughing. The thing was made out of a spandex-type material and obviously designed for a man three sizes smaller than he was.

Dread rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Problem?"

"Um, yeah." Blaine held up the suit in front of his body, and Dread saw the legs stopped at about where the man's knees were.

"All right," Dread said exasperated, "you won't have to wear the uniform. I'll introduce you as my bodyguard. Just try to make it seem like you don't despise me as much as you do- that might cause suspicion among the others."

"How long exactly is this going to take?" Blaine repeated his question from the last time they had met in this place.

"That depends on how good you are at what you do. In all reality it shouldn't be too long, the person in question can be pretty foolhardy at times. You just have to look for the right opportunity."

"Ok…just one question."

"…Go ahead."

"Do they have coffee?"

Dread grimaced. "In a manner of speaking."

Blaine groaned. "Great."

"Time to go."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Jefferson Smith sat down in his cushy leather chair and reached into a middle drawer to retrieve an only slightly stale donut. It had been a stressful day, and he just wanted to sit there and munch on the fried goodness. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He was interrupted by a beeping coming from the speaker built into the left side of his desk. He sighed heavily, but pushed the green 'accept' button. He was the leader of an organization created to protect the world from terrorism. He could not ignore calls just because he wanted to eat a donut…although the thought **had** crossed his mind. "Smith," he said, answering whoever had chosen to interrupt his morning snack.

"Berto Martinez here, sir. Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you should know that Dread is outside the base."

"Well, we expected he'd know how to get in and out regardless of our attempts to keep him in," Smith said. "He **did** help design the building."

"That's not the problem."

Jefferson leaned forward. When the words 'Dread' and 'problem' were used in the same conversation, it usually wasn't a good thing. "What's going on, Berto?"

"He's not alone."

"I know; I'm not happy about it, but I agreed to let bring in a close associate or two."

There was silence on Berto's end.

"Martinez?"

"A close associate or two?"

"Yes."

"…"

"Berto?"

"…Try 25."


	12. Jefferson's Triumph

A/N: All right, I actually started writing chapter 12 last week, but upon coming back to it, I realized it was utter crap, and then deleted it. So, here's take 2 of the crap chapter.

Chapter 12 

Jefferson stared at the intercom on his desk for a few seconds. He had known that he and Dread would have some issues staying in the same base, but this was not going to happen. "Martinez, confirm. Dread has _twenty-five_ of his people out there?"

"Yep."

"You're sure?"

Berto sounded slightly insulted. "I think I know how to count, Sir."

Jefferson sighed. "Yes, Berto, I know you know how to count. What are they doing?"

"Right now? Moving towards the entrance near the loading bay."

Jefferson leaned back in his chair and though a moment. "Where are Kat and Max?"

There was silence on Berto's end.

"Martinez?"

Berto hesitated. "They're in the cafeteria."

Jefferson closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then responded through gritted teeth. "They're supposed to be the ones watching Dread. What are they doing in the cafeteria?"

Berto's reply was unintelligible.

"Martinez?"

"They're…um…well, they're kind of having a contest."

Jeff narrowed his eyes. "What kind of contest?"

"Well…"

"Berto, I don't have time for this! Now tell me why the hell the two people supposed to be watching John Dread are in the cafeteria holding a contest?"

Berto took a deep breath and let it out very quickly. "They're competing to see who gets the last donut by seeing who can stand on their head the longest." He winced and waited for Jeff's reply.

"WHAT!" Smith's roar echoed off the walls of the console room and Berto rushed to turn down the volume.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger," he added nervously.

Jeff took a deep breath and calmed himself down…somewhat. "Berto, please tell my genius son and Ms. Ryan that something of slightly higher importance than that donut is happening."

"Yes, Sir."

"Oh, and one more thing?"

"I'm listening."

"There's ten bucks in it for you if that donut ends up on my desk."

"You've got it."

Jefferson pressed another button on the intercom, severing the connection. It wasn't very comforting to know that the world's best secret agent could be distracted from his duty by a donut. Not very comforting at all.

"This kind of thing never happened when Rachel was watching him," he told himself. _Yeah_, he thought, _but there was also a reason Rachel had chosen not to work with him anymore_. He sighed. Company romances never worked out. He knew his hadn't.

Maybe it was a good thing the phone on his desk rang again and interrupted his train of thought. That particular collection of memories never put him in a good state of mind. He hesitated, as he had previously, before picking up the phone, but this time it was not because he wanted to finish his donut. This time, he just plain didn't want to know what piece of information awaited him on the other end of the line.

After the device rang three times, he begrudgingly reached forward and picked up the handset. "Smith here."

"Why, hello Jeff, how are you this fine day?"

Smith recognized the all-too-familiar oily voice and jumped up out of his chair. "Dread, what the hell is going on! This is a complete breach of our agreement. When I said five or six, I meant exactly that. You are unauthorized to bring twenty-five of your associates into this base. I will not allow it!"

"Nathanson."

"Excuse me!"

The voice on the other end sighed. "You called me Dread again. I really insist that you call me Nathanson. Marco would be satisfactory if you wish."

"What is your obsession with that name! And stop trying to change the subject! You're not getting all those people in here, and that's final!"

"I'm rather attached to my old name. Now that I'm back at N-Tek, I really wish to re-instate it. And do stop talking to me in such a manner, I'm not your son, if you remember."

Jefferson put the receiver on his desk, and took more than a few deep breaths. He was never going to win the Dread/Nathanson debate. It wasn't worth it. _Pick your battles, Jeff_, he told himself. He knew he **would** have to pick his battles in this one. And no matter how much it annoyed him, what name Marco Nathanson would go by was not worth his energy. However, making sure that Psycho and Dragonelle were stopped was.

"Still there, my friend?" asked the receiver from its place on the desk.

Jefferson picked it up, and picked his words carefully before responding to it. "Marco," he said slowly, "you have to understand that I will not allow all of your people into my base. It was against our original agreement, and think of it reasonably. No one will be trying to harm you here, and twenty-five unauthorized personnel wandering around the classified sectors of our organization is a security risk I can not allow. Would you have let this happen when you were CEO?"

"No, most likely not. However, when I was CEO I didn't keep junk food in my desk drawers either."

"Marco…" Jefferson warned.

"Oh, all right, ten then."

"Six."

"Eight."

"Seven. That's it."

"Fine. But I do need some assistance getting them through security. Your guard looks a little…nervous, which is really the reason why I called in the first place. I would really prefer that he holstered his firearm. It would be a shame for him to die on such a lovely day."

Jefferson hit the intercom and pressed 77- the number for the garage speaker. "Davis, put your gun away, you are not in any danger." He pressed the disconnect button, then picked up the phone again. "Happy?"

"Quite. How long is this going to take?"

"I'll send Ms. Leeds down shortly. In the meantime, make sure your men stay exactly where they are. You would be smart to do the same."

"Of course."

Jefferson heard a beep on the other end of the line, and then hung up his phone as well. Sitting back down in his chair, he just had enough time to collect himself before the door creaked open to admit Kat Ryan and Max Steel… both covered in splotches of ketchup.

Deciding that he just did not want to know, Jefferson nodded at the two of them. "Are we ready to start work now?"

Max considered the point for a second, and then nodded. "Well, there are no more donuts left, so I guess so."

"No more donuts?" asked Jefferson, trying to hide his dismay.

Kat made a face. "Yeah, Berto came and snatched the one we were fighting over."

Jeff cheered silently in his head. At least there had been one victory for the day.


	13. Come to the Dark Side

A/N: This chapter written in honor of Akili's bithday because it was her idea in the first place. Akili, you will be getting those tapes at some point, lol. I think this falls somewhere along the ranks of the Woodstock chapter...

Chapter 13

"Got any threes?"

"Go fish. Got any twos?"

"Yep. Here ya go."

"Cool. Got any fives?"

"...Yeah...here."

"Got any eights?"

"YOU'RE CHEATING!"

"You know what? I think it's time for a cookie break."

"Good idea. Let's go. Jerry's manning the stand."

"Oh good, I like Jerry. He's the one that wore charcoal boots that time instead of black and pissed the boss off, right?"

"Sure is."

"What a guy."

The two DREDD minions got up from the sidewalk outside of N-Tek's large garage and walked across the way to where an identical minion was standing behind a table with plates of cookies on it.

"Hey, guys!" he waved enthusiastically as the two card-playing minions approached. 

"Hey! Just came to say hi...and to have some more cookies, of course!"

"Sure! Have some!"

The first DREDD minion went and carefully selected a cookie from the plate. "This one looks good," he said, as he reached up to take off his helmet so that he could eat it.

"STOP!" Out of nowhere, he was tackled to the ground by three other minions. 

"AGH! THE COOKIE! WATCH THE COOKIE!"

The DREDD minions backed off, noticing that the first one was about to drop his beloved cookie.

"We're sorry," one said, speaking for the rest of them. "It's just...you know we're not allowed to take off our helmets when people are watching..."

"Who's watching!" the cookie-holding minion asked bewilderedly. 

"They are," Jerry whispered, pointing at a large window on the north side of the building facing them where several dozen N-Tek employees were crowded together.

The first DREDD minion looked to where Jerry was pointing. "Why are they watching us?"

"Because we're interesting," one boasted proudly.

"I've been trying to get them to join up with DREDD ever since we got here. It gives me something to do."

"So, if I can't eat the cookie, what do I do with it?"

"You hold it."

"Hold it?"

"Yep. Just hold it."

One of the other DREDD minions suddenly waved at the window and shouted "Join the dark side! We have cookies!"

The N-Tek employees quickly scattered, leaving one man remaining, still looking out the window at the minions gathered around the stand.

"That one's a possibility," Jerry remarked. "He actually came over yesterday on his break and asked about our dental plan."

The DREDD minions all around him snorted.

"Whatdja tell him?" one asked.

"I told him it was the best, of course."

There was derisive laughter all around.

"Well, anyway, I've got to go back to putting fliers on the car windshields," one said. "Anyone want to help?"

"Sure," said one, "if you help me with the banner later."

"You've got it."

And so they went off to kill time by attempting to corrupt N-Tek agents while their master remained inside doing his best to bring beautiful chaos to the organization devoted to preventing it.


	14. Dead Mousie

_A/N: Nothing award winning, I know, but I had to write something…_

Chapter Something

He was in a warm kitchen with the smell of bacon and eggs in the air. Although he could not really eat food like normal people, Psycho still enjoyed the familiar things of his pre-cyborg life. Looking around the kitchen, he saw it was painted in a warm yellow color. Standing at the stove with his back towards him was someone familiar. Psycho couldn't place exactly who he was, or where he knew this person from, but he knew that this too was a good and familiar part of the kitchen. Sitting down at the small table in the corner of the room, he stared at the person, trying to remember who exactly they were. The hair, the clothes, the way the person stood, Psycho definitely knew this one from somewhere. Then, suddenly, he remembered. Standing up with a jolt, he yelped. "Steel!"

**"What can I get for you Psy Psy?" the person at the sink turned around happily, wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Cook" over his regular N-Tek uniform. **

**Psycho backed up slowly, wanting to get as far away as possible. **

**Max looked concerned. "Are you okay, hon?"**

**Psycho focused on changing his left arm into that nice, handy claw, but instead felt a gentle tugging on it. Looking down, he saw a small child of about four pulling on his hand. **

**"Dad! Jeffie broke my scooter again!"**

**Max waved a spatula at the kid. "Not now, James! Daddy's having one of his moments again."**

**"One of my what! Daddy!" **

**"Aw, looks like someone needs a hug!" Max said, and started walking slowly towards Psycho with his arms open. "Come on, Psy Psy! Give me a hug!" **

**Psycho backed up even more quickly, until he was flat up against the wall. "No! Stay away from me! Why isn't my claw working! Get away from me! No!"**

**There was a sharp pain in his side. He shook it off. He was occupied right now. He had to stop Max from hugging him. The pain again. 'Not now!' he wanted to yell at it. He had to find out who these kids were. Surely not his. His would be much better looking, anyway. The sharp pain again, this time waking him up.**

**"Thank G-AHHHHHHH!" Spotting what seemed to be some kind of green sea monster lurking over him, Psycho tried to run from his bed, but instead only managed to tangle himself in the bed covers and fall flat on his face. He struggled to free his arm, and pointed his laser at her. "Don't come any closer!"**

**"It's me, you fool." Regaining his senses, he slowly remembered where he was: one of the abandoned DREDD bases. The sea monster standing there glowering down at him was not a monster at all, but only Dragonelle with a night mask on. Not that that was always an improvement if the latter was in a bad mood.**

**She rolled her eyes. "You were screeching in your sleep again."**

**"Was not," he muttered, lowering his arm and letting it shift back into it's 'normal' form. **

**"Well then, are you mentally stable enough to get back to work tomorrow, or do you need to take a break? We can't have you screwing things up by having a nervous break down during an operation."**

**"Get out of my room."**

**"It's six o'clock anyway," she said, flipping on the light switch. "Time to get up. We have a lot to do today."**

**Muttering curses at her retreating form as she left the room, he got himself together as best he could, and a few minutes later followed her down to the kitchen. The nice, modern kitchen with no yellow walls, or nice smells, or…anyone else. **

**Looking around, he realized she was not in there, but instead in the dining room, already dressed and de-sea monstered. He didn't know how. If he was anyone else unaware of her specialty in disguises, he would probably be incredibly confused at her instant changes in appearance. However, he was used to it by now. Instead of commenting, he proceeded to the dining room. **

**The room was a mess, of course, as was every room in which the other occupant of the base spent a lot of time in. While Psycho liked everything neat and sterile, she, of course, had to be a big and leave her garbage all over the place. They had both lost count of how many arguments this subject had been the source of. Indeed, on top of the pristine map of the world he had tacked down to the table with neat little pushpins, were multiple unfinished cups of coffee, candy bar wrappers, Popsicle sticks, and a dead mouse. Actually, he didn't really think she was responsible for the mouse. Things like this happen sometimes when the electricity gets cut off. They'd been using infinity ice to keep food in the refrigerator and freezer. Actually, _she'd_ been keeping food in there. He didn't eat, and this fact caused even more arguments, as she seemed to eat even more than necessary just to mock him. **

**With one swipe of his arm, he cleared all the debris off of the table, and sat down on a stool to look over the map. The places they had already struck were marked by red pushpins. Potential targets were in white. Psycho felt a surge of psychotic happiness as he saw how many red pushpins there were. They were good. **

**"So, which one you thinking about next?" Dragonelle asked lazily from the other side of the table, eating a pop tart. **

**Psycho grinned. "Denmark looks good."**

**"When do we leave?"**

**"Now." **


	15. The End For Now

Hm, maybe I'll actually keep track of what chapter I'm on the next fic...

Somewhere in Mclean, Virginia

A tired-looking man sat staring at a large map on the wall littered with pushpins. 37, to be exact. 37 robbery/demolitions, and the agency still had no idea what in the hell they were dealing with. You'd think a cyborg wouldn't be that hard to track down.

That was another problem. Though everyone in the counter-terrorism world knew who the character was, there were no files, no records, anywhere. The director himself had searched for them, but still nothing. this wasn't an issue of clearance; they just didn't exist. _Probably more of that plausible deniability junk_, he though to himself.

He was not having a good day. His marriage was falling apart- an occupational hazard he had been warned about, and the meeting earlier on in the day had brought nothing but bad news.

It turned out that files on this "Psycho" character did exist, and that the people holding them not only had pages of information on him, but also had an idea as to why there were two of him. These files were kept by an independent organization operated under control of one Jefferson Smith. The CIA had humiliated this agency earlier on in the year by snatching the case away from them, and now they were going to be needing this group's help. It was time to grovel. He hated groveling.

To be continued...

All right, this fic is sorta meandering along and just picking up random ideas as it goes. So, I'm going to have to split it up into two fics because I am only about halfway through with the storyline, and this is already too long.


End file.
